Separated by a Common Language, Indeed
by ai-08
Summary: In which America gives England a condom and England is properly mortified. If by mortified you mean extremely interested. Based on the "rubber" comic. UKxUS, and pretty much the rest of the world as well.
1. Part One

A/N: Ever sit down to write a fic and at first you like it but then you look at it and go, "Oh god, _I_ wrote that?" But you figure, well, it's written, may as well post it? Yea. Yea this is mine. *head desk* Anyways, it's always a good idea to give credit where credit's due, so first things first: the scene I describe with America's misadventures in driving is from a seriously funny fanart of England and America that can be found on deviantart. Also, the locations and what-not that I mention are all real places.

_Prompt: "rubber" comic, Italy gives advice, Saudi Arabia (Yea. Trust me. I had to pull shit outta my ass for this dern prompt.)_

Separated by a Common Language, Indeed

England looked up from his desk and smiled when he saw America walk by. "Hey, do you have a rubber?" he asked.

America blinked a few times, trying to fight the blush that threatened to blossom across his face, and sputtered indignantly. _Come on, America, you're awesome. You can think of something witty to say!_ Instead he just looked at England as if he had just asked him to label the capitol of Uzbekistan on a map.

England raised a brow. "America?"

America was starting to sweat. Why… why was England asking him this so suddenly? He tugged at the collar of his shirt and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Why, do you have a partner or something?" he asked. America hoped he sounded skeptical, or like he was making fun of him, but he was pretty sure he just sounded like someone had just kicked him in the balls. Humiliated, he ran out.

England was completely confused. "What is he on about?" He shrugged to himself. "Ah well, I'll just have to find another pencil to write with."

In the hall, America leaned against the wall, legs shaking. He placed a hand over his heart, willing it to calm down. What the hell was England doing, asking if he had a condom so casually? For a stuffy Brit, he sure was being forward! The nerve of that tea-loving old man. They'd only gone out once! Oh sure, he'd liked England for as long as he could remember (not that he'd ever be caught dead tell the older nation that.) But did he think America was easy or something? (Even if he was, that was totally beside the point.) He stood for justice and freedom and… and strong family values, damnit!

Except at the moment those family values weren't feeling all that strong. Actually, they were feeling pretty non-existant.

He frowned. Awesome as he was, this was a matter that required professional advice. So he ran to the nearest Italian restaurant.

"Italy, help!" he exclaimed, out of breath.

Italy was in the middle of feeding Germany (who looked like he was about to explode his face was so red) a fork-full of pasta. He waved at the younger nation. "America! What's the matter? Want some pasta?"

America shook his head vigorously. "No, Italy, I need your help! It's about my friend again!"

Germany nearly choked on the pasta. "What," he coughed a few times. "What do you mean again? You've been… getting advice from Italy?"

America nodded. "Yea, for a friend," he explained. "About relationship stuff. Italy really knows what he's talking about!"

Italy struck a cute pose. "Just call me the love doctor!"

As if his face wasn't red enough, Germany's blush deepened. "How could I forget," he muttered.

* * *

_As with most world meetings, if America wasn't the one doing the talking, then he wasn't paying the least bit of attention. And seeing as France had been prattling on for the past, oh, half a century, America was good and zoned out and had taken to doodling on his copy of this week's world stock market data. Or was it information about the environment? He wasn't too sure…_

_He hummed under his breath and drew a little version of himself with a cape and a sword, adding the caption 'America the Hero: Medieval Style!' He beamed down at his awesome creation and quickly added a dragon, which he heroically defeated. And of course every good hero story had to have a damsel in distress… He sniggered to himself as he added England (labeled: Stuffy Old Brit) in a princess dress, thanking him for saving him. His laugh turned into a goofy smile, and the next doodle was of America the Hero getting a well deserved thank you kiss from Princess Engl- WAIT WHAT THE FUCK._

_America gasped and quickly stuffed his drawing inside his notebook, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed what was on the page. But of course everyone else was paying attention (or at least pretending to pay attention) to France. Well, except for Greece, but that was nothing new. He heaved a sigh of relief and settled back into his seat as if nothing had happened._

_Seven minutes into France's speech, England couldn't take it anymore. He knew the other country had one more minute on the floor, but damnit, if he was going to insist on constantly diverging from the topic at hand, then he didn't think he could listen to a second more._

"_France, if you don't have anything important to say, then why did you raise your hand?" he shouted._

_France pouted. "Now, England, that's not a very nice thing to say."_

"_You're getting on my last nerve. Bloody hell, either get to the point or stuff it!"_

_America smiled, glad he had decided to pay attention for once. It was always fun to watch the other nations fight (and even more fun to step in and bring peace like a true hero once the argument got boring). England's face got a little redder when he shouted. America felt himself starting to smile. Why hadn't he ever noticed it before? It was kind of cu-_Why_ was his brain doing this to him?_

"_I can't take it anymore," he mumbled under his breath._

_Except he hadn't mumbled it under his breath. Actually, he'd sort of said it out loud… rather loudly. Like, shouted it. He wondered if it was possible to will the ground to swallow him up._

_England cleared his throat. "I'm inclined to agree with America," he said. "Let's stop this fighting and get back to business."_

_America heaved a visible sigh of relief, overjoyed to have a cover for his outburst. "Yea, back to work! No more, uh, non-work related stuff!"_

_England couldn't help it, he smiled proudly at his old colony. "Why, America, that's probably the most sensible thing you've said this year," he poked fun at the younger nation, trying to conceal how proud he was._

_America laughed. "Yea, well, I'm just being my normal self, awesome as usual!" He gripped at his notebook and stared at the clock on the wall; could the time go by any slower?_

_England's smile broadened. America was being serious for a change! _

_Suddenly England noticed that the younger nation was holding his binder as if it held something important. "America… is there something you'd like to say? Unlike France, maybe you've got some pertinent information you'd like to share with us?"_

_America's eyes widened and he slowly drug the notebook towards himself, hugging it to his chest. "N-no! Why would you say that?"_

_England frowned. "You don't have anything to say? Noting at all?"_

_America shook his head no._

_England narrowed his eyes, getting suspicious. "Then what's in the binder?"_

_America paled. Was England on to him? Was he trying to get him to confess in front of everyone? Well, England had another thing coming. America's lips were sealed! "N-nothing!" he stammered._

_But that didn't stop England from marching around the table and glaring daggers at him. "You're acting stranger than usual," he said. "What's in the binder?" he demanded again._

"_Nothing!" America said. "I swear!"_

"_Then give it to me!"_

"_No!"_

"_Give it here, America!"_

"_Never!"_

"_Yes!"_

"_No!"_

"_Ye-"_

_Switzerland fired a bullet between the two of them. "Shut up and get back to the meeting!" he shouted. America took the opportunity to flee the room, but in the process failed to notice that a certain piece of paper had fluttered out of the notebook he was holding and landed at England's feet._

_-_

_America had been hiding in the lady's room (England would never find him there… he hoped) but he was starting to get hungry, not to mention his butt was starting to hurt from sitting on the toilet seat for so long. He chanced a peek in the hallway, and when he was absolutely sure that the coast was clear, he made a mad dash for the exit._

_But when he passed by the meeting room, he heard a chair being pushed back, and papers being moved around. Knowing England, it was probably him; first to arrive, last to leave… America looked from the door to the meeting room, and then to the door to the exit._

_He sighed. He knew he owed England an apology for running out of the meeting like that, so he may as well do it now…_

_-_

_Germany sighed and began to gather his things. As usual, nothing had been solved today, and it was starting to get on his nerves._

_Suddenly, a very family pair of hands began to snake around him from behind. "Hey, Germany, Germany guess what?" Italy said in his sexiest voice possible. (Which really just sounded like his normal voice, but he got points for trying.)_

"_Yes, Italy?" Germany said, straightening his papers and putting them behind the appropriate tab in his binder._

"_I wanna hug," Italy said, nuzzling the taller nation between his shoulder blades. Germany blushed and fumbled with his notebook, nearly dropping it as he tried to put it in his bag. "Y-you are hugging me," he said. _

_Italy shook his head. "No," he said, "a real hug!"_

_Germany turned around to oblige, only to find that Italy's face was tilted up, his eyes were closed, and he had his lips puckered. Germany's blush grew, but he quickly bent to give the shorter nation a kiss._

_...One thing led to another, and somehow they had both managed to lose their jackets, (and half the buttons on their shirts) knocked a bunch of books and papers off the large round desk, kicked over a chair, and Italy was now sitting on top of Germany, trying to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt._

_And that was how America found them, the apology he had prepared for England slowly seeping out of his mind to be replaced with the mental image of a half naked Italy sitting atop an equally half naked Germany. _

_Italy waved. Germany promptly sat up and lifted Italy off of himself and began to get dressed. And America… America decided that he needed a stiff drink._

"_You… you guys were kissing," he said._

_Italy nodded. Germany cleared his throat, grabbed Italy by the arm, and began to inch around the younger nation to the exit._

"_So… do you… like each other?" he asked._

_Italy nodded again. Germany raised a brow. "Do you have a point, America?" he asked, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation_

_America blushed and scratched at the back of his head. Italy grinned. "Oh, I know! America likes someone!" he said. "Tell me who, tell me who!"_

"_It's nothing like that!" America was quick to deny. Italy and Germany both shared a knowing look. America laughed nervously. "It's just that… I know this person who thinks they might like someone else, but they're not sure, so they don't know what to do and they asked me, because, you know, I'm awesome and I know everything, but, surprisingly this question really had me stumped!"_

_Italy nodded sagely and stroked his imaginary beard, deep in thought. "That's tricky!" he said. "But I think the best thing your friend could do would be to spend more time with the other person!"_

_America smiled. "Of course, yea! Why didn't I think of that?" He ran out with a wave. "Thanks!"_

"_America sure has been acting strange today," Germany commented._

_Italy looked up at him innocently. "Can we hug some more now?"_

_-_

_It took America an entire day to work up the nerve to get in contact with England, and by the time he did, it was too late; England had already flown home and America was left in, well, America, to kick himself for waiting too long. Bored, he decided to kill time and check his email. Deleting stupid chain-letters some guy named Canada had sent him, he wondered how long it would take him to come up with a good excuse to call the older nation, how long it would be till they got to speak again…_

_Fish-n-Chips has logged on!_

_Oh. Well. Turns out, not very long._

_Except, he'd be damned if he was going to start the conversation! No, sir. America was definitely a firm believer in playing hard to get. Even if that didn't have anything to do with this situation, and he really ought to stop being rude and just apologize to England for acting like such a weirdo. But still. He couldn't bring himself to speak first._

_**Fish-n-Chips: **__…I don't know why I even let you touch my computer. Why is my screen name fish-n-chips?_

_America sighed in relief, glad that England had finally said something. That had been the most excruciatingly painful forty seconds of his life, and, hero or not, he wasn't sure if he could've lasted much longer without caving in._

_**Stars-n-Stripes: **__cause it goes with mine! fish-n-chips, stars-n-stripes, get it? :D_

_**Fish-n-chips:**__ Yes but… fish-n-chips? Couldn't you have picked something more dignified? _

_**Stars-n-stripes:**__ …tea-n-crumpets?_

_**Fish-n-chips:**__ …Let's change the subject. I don't feel like yelling at you over the internet._

_**Stars-n-stripes:**__ aww ur bein so sweet to me Iggy _(＾∇＾)

_**Fish-n-chips:**__ what the feck is that?_

_**Stars-n-stripes:**__ japanese emoticons! japan showed me :'D_

_**Fish-n-chips:**__ How nice. Listen, there was something I wanted to talk about._

_Reading England's last post, America's stomach decided to do a rollercoaster simulation. He quickly typed something before England could say anything. Like reprimand him for running out of the world meeting._

_**Stars-n-stripes:**__ i just wanted to apologize 4 actin so weird the other day n I wuz wonderin if u'd wanna hang out sometime next week, my treat?_

_At first England didn't say anything. America frowned and began to type that he had just been kidding when he noticed that in the corner of the screen it said 'Fish-n-chips is writing…'_

_America held his breath, minimized it, and closed his eyes. He sat like that for a moment, until he realized that he had cut the sound off. Peeking an eye open, he saw that the tab for the chat program was flashing. Swallowing nervously, he restored the page._

_**Fish-n-chips:**__ It's alright. I would love to, America. Thank you for asking. However, I've been a little busy lately. Would you mind come to England?_

_**Stars-n-stripes: **__nah, that's totally fine! :D_

_**Fish-n-chips:**__ Right then, that's lovely. I'd like that._

_**Stars-n-stripes: **__kay, ttys!_

_**Fish-n-chips: **__Goodbye, America._

_America signed off and did the most awesome and heroic happy dance ever, but stopped mid air-punch when he realized that he had no idea what he was doing. He got the date, but… now what? He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Italy's number, glad that they were all on a world-wide plan, otherwise all these long distance phone calls would kill._

_Italy picked up on the second ring. "America! What's up?"_

"_I, er, I mean, my friend took your advice."_

"_That's really good! So are they together and happy and everything now?"_

"_Er, well, my friend just told me that they're going to go on a date. Well, he didn't say it was a date, but they are going out, so that's a date, right?"_

_Italy thought for a moment. "Well, sometimes Germany will take me to a really nice restaurant and I'll ask him if it's a date and he'll say it isn't, but he'll pull out my chair and give me flowers and tell me he loves me, so even if it isn't a date, it's still wonderful!" he said. "So I don't think it matters if it's a date or not, as long as you're having fun!"_

_America nodded. "Yea, that makes sense. But, but what should I, I mean, my friend do on the date? Er, well, when they hang out."_

"_It depends on what they like," Italy said. "What do they like to do?"_

_America thought for a moment. "Well, my friend is awesome. Kinda like me, but not as cool. But he likes a lot of the same things I do. And… the person he likes is… well, kinda boring and stodgy. And old-fashioned. And-" America threw a hand over his mouth before he completely gave it away. Italy laughed._

"_What's so funny?"_

"_Nothing, they just sound an awful lot like you and England is all."_

_America sputtered. "Well, well it's definitely not about me and England! That's a stupid idea!"_

_Italy laughed again. "But, if they're similar to you and England, then all you have to do is think of something that you and England would like to do, and presto, you've got an idea!"_

_America groaned. That was precisely the problem! Not like he could tell Italy that though…_

"_How about dinner and a movie or something? Or a walk at the park?" Italy offered. "That's what Germany likes to do!"_

_America nodded to himself. Germany and England were both stick-in-the-mud types, so if Germany enjoyed it, then there was a pretty good chance that England would to._

"_That's a pretty good idea," he said. "Thanks Italy, you're a big help! I'll call my friend back right away!"_

"_No problem!" Italy said, then with a whisper, added, "if your friend ever needs any tips for the bedroom, I've got plenty of tho-"_

"_No, that's ok!" America said, really not wanting anymore mental images of Germany and Italy going at it. "I'm, er, he's, uh, we're good!"_

_-_

_America had just gotten off the phone with his boss, who thought it was a great idea that he wanted to "personally strengthen his ties with the United Kingdom", and was currently looking for a cheap flight to England when he noticed that he had a voicemail. Speak of the devil!_

"I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in Belfast next week, if you still wanted to… hang out... I thought it would be nice if you came here as well, since you haven't been to Belfast in ages. But if you don't want to that's perfectly fine. Just let me know and I'll be sure to make arrangements for you. Hope you're doing well and I'll see you soon. Cheerio."

_America scratched his head. England wasn't in England? And where on earth was Belfast? He decided to google it when he noticed that Poland was online and opted to just ask him instead._

_**Stars-n-stripes: **__hey poland where's belfast?_

_**Pretty in Pink: **__isn't that in, like, saudi arabia?_

_**Stars-n-stripes:**__ are you for real?_

_**Pretty in Pink:**__ totally. i saw it on like, the food network this onetime. they've got like, camels and everything._

_What the hell what England doing in Saudi Arabia? And hadn't he said something about having plane issues? He called the older nation, completely confused. "Why aren't you in England, England?" he asked before the older nation even had the chance to say hello._

"_I've got a meeting in Belfast, and I thought that since you hadn't been here in a while you'd like to see it," he said._

"_But… why do you have a meeting in Saudi Arabia?"_

"_I'm in Northern Ireland you nitwit," England said. He sighed. "Just let me make your travel arrangements, ok?"_

_-_

_England was waiting for America at the airport. As promised, he had booked him a flight in economy class. ("We're still in the recession ya know!") And America was late. Really late. OK, so he was only ten minutes behind schedule. But still._

"_England, hey!" America ran towards him, holding a piece of luggage in each hand. "Thanks for agreeing to hangout with me," America said, slightly out of breath. England blushed and took one of the suitcases out of his hand. "Come on," he said, "I'm parked outside."_

"_Can I drive?" America asked._

"_Absolutely not," England said. "Remember what happened when I let you drive in Wales?" England certainly did. And it involved a narrow, sea-side road, a lorry driving at about 120 kilometers per hour, and America, cluelessly driving on the wrong side of the road, not paying attention to his surroundings._

_America feigned innocence. "No…?"_

"_Well you're still not driving."_

_America pouted, but did not push the subject. At first they drove in comfortable silence, but about a half hour into the drive, they both tried to speak at once. America laughed and England blushed. "You go first," the American said._

"_I was just going to say that I hope you're hungry," England said. "I recently discovered a quaint little restaurant in a sea-side village. I think you'll like it."_

_America inwardly grimaced. England's cooking, and consequently his taste in food, was pretty awful. America just hoped that, whatever this place served, it was edible. Maybe if he was lucky they'd have hamburgers. His stomach grumbled at the thought._

_England smiled. "I guess that settles it."_

"_I'm pretty much starving," America said. "The food on the plane sucked. Even the peanuts."_

"_What, they didn't serve burgers and fries?" England jested._

"_No," America said. "It was horrible." The younger nation looked down at the map in his lap and began to seriously examine it. England raised a brow. America couldn't read a map even if someone highlighted the route he was supposed to take. Which England had. Not so much to help America, since he was beyond it anyways, but just as a way to humor him._

"_Are we going to Bangor?" America asked._

"_No, we're bypassing it. We'll get off A2 and…why?"_

_America pointed at a sign that read 'Welcome to Bangor'. England cursed under his breath. "Ah well," he said. "Don't know how I missed the exit at that last roundabout, but we can take A2 straight to Donaghadee, it just takes a bit longer this way."_

"_Shoulda let me drive old man," America said, "your eyesight must be goin!"_

_-_

_Forty minutes, three arguments, and two near accidents later, they found themselves at their destination. America's eyes widened; it was so beautiful! There were many sail boats out at sea that day, and not fifty feet away from them stood a lighthouse on the edge of the rocky shore. "Wow," America said._

_England beamed. "I thought you'd like it."_

_They walked down the little street to a homey little restaurant nestled between an antique shop and an inn. Both nations hurried through the door, happy to be in out of the cold. Inside the place was filled corner to corner with wooden tables and chairs, and drawings of cats lined the walls, which made America chuckle. The room was full of the buzz of many quiet conversations taking place at once, and they had to squeeze their way past a few couples to get to the only remaining table in the far corner. _

_Their waitress, an older woman with black hair and a plump face, came to take their order._

"_Lovely to see you again, Arthur, and so soon!" she said, then turned her attention to America. "Is this the friend you were telling me about?"_

_At that, both nations blushed. She giggled. "Oh, he's a wee pet, isn't he?" She patted Arthur on the cheek. "What's your name, love?" she asked._

"_My name's Alfred, ma'am," he said with a winning smile._

"_Bless," she exclaimed, "such a gentleman! What will you be havin then, love?"_

_She scurried away with their order (a tea, a coffee, and two full orders of minced meat pie) and left the two in awkward silence. England had not expected Vicky, their waitress, to remember his offhanded comment that the next time he came by he would bring his friend from America._

"_So, you've told people about me?" America asked, cheeky grin firmly in place._

"_Oh, haha," England said. "Go on then, take the piss, I don't care." But the furious blush across both of his cheeks told otherwise._

_America scrunched his face up. "What are you talking about? I was just making fun of you."_

_England wanted to slam his head against the table. Why was America so damn daft at times? "That's what I meant," he mumbled under his breath. Why had he agreed to meet with America again? He knew that by the end of the night, they'd be at each other throats. And not in a good way._

_His eyes widened at that thought. What was he thinking? Why had that mental image even occurred to him? Of course they would never… not unless, you know, America wanted to. Which wasn't to say that he wanted to! _

_Oh who was he kidding. If it wouldn't cause a national scandal, he'd throw the younger nation over the dinner table and have his sweet way with him, then and there. Which reminded him…_

_That piece of paper he had picked up when America had fled the meeting room. Though at first it had left him wanting to sucker punch the little imbecile from here to the moon ("Who is he calling a stuffy old Brit? And why am I in a dress?") after he'd calmed down, it had made him think. Did America… like him?_

_England cleared his throat and looked up at America, who was busy trying to fold his cloth napkin into an airplane. "America," he said, "I, er, wanted to ask you something."_

_America looked up at him, "yea?"_

"_That, um, that paper that you dropped after the last world meeting… was it true?" England looked away; he knew he was blushing like mad._

_America, however, was having the complete opposite problem. All of the color had drained from his face. He sat in complete shock and horror, staring at the older nation._

"_W-what?" He had a hard time getting his mouth to work and the sound almost got caught in his throat. How did England know about that? Had it fallen out of his binder or something? He mentally kicked himself for having forgotten to check his binder and _burn_ that picture._

_England fidgeted in his seat. This was completely unfair! America was the one who should be sitting here, embarrassed as hell at having been caught drawing a silly cartoon, and here he was, blushing like a little school girl! Granted, America sounded as if he was being strangled, but still. _

_England tried to man-up. Honestly he did. But his "You heard me!" didn't come out quiet as commanding as he had hoped. _

_America blinked out of his petrified stupor. Was… was England's voice shaking? A little higher pitched and quiet than usual? And… and was that a blush? Come to think of it, England wasn't exactly acting as if he was disgusted by the idea either. He sounded more… terrified that he had thought wrong. America grinned wolfishly._

"_Oh, it's not all true," he said, trying not to snigger. "I didn't defeat a dragon that big… But it was close."_

_England glowered. How dare he mock him when he was… damnit when he was trying to… Well he wasn't sure what the hell he was trying to do, but one thing was for sure, he was going to wipe that smirk off of America's face!_

"_Well," the Brit said haughtily. "I wouldn't be caught dead doing that."_

_At those words, America's face fell and he looked away. _

"_That dress?" England continued. "Hideous. Why would anyone want to wear that?"_

_America's ears turned pink at that, but he smiled again. England hadn't said anything about the kiss, which meant that he probably wasn't adverse to the idea, which probably meant that… oh my god, were they on a date?_

_That reminded him. "I'm paying for this, by the way," he said._

_England raised a brow. "Why?" he asked._

"_Cause…" America mumbled the rest under his breath. England leaned forward and strained to hear what he had said, but America had spoken to quickly and softly._

"_Come again?" England asked._

"_I said…" America took a deep breath. "I said it's my treat. I don't want you to pay."_

_England smiled softly and shook his head. "If it'll make you happy," he said quietly. America's blush worsened and he gave a quiet nod._

_It was then that the waitress came back to the table with their orders. And when they both reached to grab the salt and pepper shakers their hands accidentally brushed against each others. And, just by accident of course, their fingers intertwined…_

* * *

"So what happened with your friend?" Italy asked, frowning. "I thought things were going really well!"

"That's what I came to talk to you about," America said, and in all seriousness asked, "what would you do if Germany asked you for a condom?"

Germany sputtered and blushed. "What kind of things have you two been talking about?" he demanded.

Italy smiled. "I'd give him one, of course!" he said. "It's very important to practice safe sex!"

"But what if you thought it was too soon…?" America asked in a small voice. It wasn't like he was a blushing virgin or anything, but come on! They'd only just bee on their first date! What did he look like, France?

Italy just cocked his head to the side, a blank expression on his face. "Too… soon?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

Germany had _definitely_ heard enough of their conversation to last him a lifetime or two. "Look," he said to America. "When someone asks for a condom, just give it to them. End of discussion."

America considered this for a moment. Germany was a very honest and rational person. If he thought that it was a good idea, well, he'd trust his judgment! And… and if England was ready, then so was he! And so it was that America found himself storming back into England's office (after having stopped at a gas station, of course) and handing England a condom.

"Meet me at my place at seven!" he commanded, trying his best not to blush, then swiftly turned around and left.

England blinked and stared, bug-eyed, at the tiny package in his hand. "W-what on earth?" he said aloud, a blush quickly crawling up his neck and across his cheeks. He shook his head vigorously and turned to his computer.

**Fish-n-chips:** What does it mean when someone gives you a condom?

**Le Sex Kitten:** Mon cher, it obviously means that they want to sleep with you!

England promptly fainted.

**End :'D**


	2. Part Two

A/N: OK, this took way too long to finish. It was mostly done about a week ago, but I finally just sat down and pulled it all together. Also, I know nothing about wine other than the fact that I can't open a bottle to save my life. And if anything is amiss (like the foreign words, or my interesting grammar) just let me know. I think I made up a word too... Anyways, enjoy. And NO, there will not be a part three haha

Separated by a Common Language, Indeed

England had given it much thought and decided that he was going to do the mature, responsible thing. He was going to calmly sit down with the younger nation and explain to him that you couldn't just give someone a condom, tell them to come over, and then have sex with them. That was vulgar and uncouth and such a _French_ thing to do, and they were _not _going to do anything France would approve of.

So. He was going to be a complete gentleman about it and calmly tell America why they shouldn't, no, _couldn't_ have sex. Even if he was more than happy to waltz up to America without even knocking on his door and throw him down on the closest possible surface and do things to him that were illegal in over half of the younger nation's states.

Oh who was he kidding? Maybe back in his glory days he would have behaved that way. But now? Now he was just nervous.

…And had also sort of been standing on America's stoop for the past ten minutes.

He tried to remind himself of the things he wanted to say to America before he rang the doorbell when he glanced to the bottle of wine he held in his arms. He had stopped at wine shop and purchased a bottle of Merlot but the closer he got to ringing the doorbell, the more foolish he felt. Was the wine too much? The wine was too much. And damnit, so was the tie. He hadn't knocked yet; maybe he could rush back to his place and change, and then run to the petrol station to buy a six pack. Or maybe he shouldn't bring anything. Knowing America, he'd probably say he was being old fashioned again. And really, he had just come to tell the other nation that no, they would not be sleeping together, and was bringing a house warming gift and dressing in a proper suit really necessary for something like that?

England started to loosen his tie. Maybe he should just untuck his shirt? No, that would look ridiculous, especially with his sweater vest. He scowled and tightened his tie again. So what if America thought looking sloppy and unkempt was cool. Coming from the country who also thought Miley Cyrus and snuggies were cool, England didn't think that America had much authority on the subject.

Oh shit. But what about the wine?

He was about to hide it behind one of the gnomes in the garden when America opened the door. "I thought I heard you coming!" he said. England quickly straightened up, wine bottle clutched in a shaky hand behind his back.

"I was just about to knock," England lied.

America leaned against the door frame. He had changed out of his dress shirt and trousers and was wearing a simple white button down, untucked, over a pair of well worn (not to mention well fitting) blue jeans. England supposed that _sometimes _being a little sloppy and unkempt could be attractive. Not that it really mattered if he noticed what America was wearing since he certainly wouldn't be removing said well-fitting blue jeans.

"What are you doing in the bushes?" America asked, voice laced with amusement.

"Never mind that," England snapped, trying to derail _that_ train of thought. "Are you going to invite me in or not?"

America chuckled and stood back, motioning for him to come in. England stepped inside, but kept his back from America, still trying to hide the wine bottle. America didn't seem to notice and headed back into the kitchen.

"I didn't have anything that hadn't expired already," the younger nation admitted from the other room, "so I just got Chinese takeout. That ok?"

Oh god.

America was wearing blue jeans and had ordered Chinese food and he was probably going to make him watch _Super Bad _or _My Dog Skip, _and here he was, starched tie and a bottle of '89 Merlot.

England looked around frantically. Maybe he could hide it in the umbrella holder or the mud closet. But just as he was about to reach for the handle to the closet, America poked his head into the hallway, giving him a funny look. "You comin' or what?"

England quickly shoved the bottle behind his back. "Y-yes, of course!"

The Briton walked into the kitchen, making sure to have his back to the nearest counter. Maybe when America wasn't paying attention he could toss it into a cabinet and pretend he'd never seen it in his life. Blame it on France or something.

America was rummaging around in the cabinet across from him. Now was the perfect opportunity! But before he could move, America had turned around, holding up two different colored plates. The American smiled sheepishly. "Um, which one do you want?" he asked. "Red or blue?"

England raised a brow at his choice of tableware. "What happened to the good china I gave you?" he inquired.

America blushed and looked down. "I broke one of the salad plates," he mumbled. "Now I just keep 'em in the display case. Too afraid to use 'em."

England laughed, relaxing just a little. "You should have told me. Those things can easily be replaced."

America shrugged. "Plastic's easier to… hey…" The younger nation cocked his head to the side, taking note of the awkward way England was standing. "What's behind your back?" he asked.

England stiffened. "N-nothing, why do you ask?" he said, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

America took a step forward, but to England it seemed like a predatorial advance. He tried his best to morph through the counter, but apparently it wasn't his day for defying physics. America tried to peer over his shoulder, but England shifted, keeping his backside hidden.

"Oh come _on_, England, show me!" America asked (more like whined).

England scoffed. "Oh like that'll get you anywhere."

"Oh mah gaw!" America suddenly gasped, looking just past England's shoulder. "A unicorn!"

England immediately turned around. "Where?" he asked excitedly, looking around the room and through the kitchen window.

America took the opportunity to snatch the wine bottle from his hand before the Englishman caught onto his joke. "Gotcha!" he laughed.

* * *

France gave a frustrated sigh. Who on earth could England have been talking about? He had asked the other nation, quite a few times actually, but after France had replied to the Briton's question, it seemed that he had left his computer without so much as signing off, leaving the poor Frenchman to wonder who was lucky enough to be getting into England's pants.

He couldn't help but pout. It wasn't as if he was wanting for a good lay, but damn if he hadn't been trying to sleep with England for the past two centuries or so, but to no avail. Ah well, England didn't know what he was missing!

France took a sip of his café au lait, savoring the rich flavors. He looked at his computer screen and saw that he had an invitation to join a chat session between Prussia and Spain. Smiling, he accepted. Perhaps they had heard something…

-_Le sex kitten has entered the conversation_-

**Ti amo Romano**: _and today romano came over with lunch, just for two :3 he said he was bored but I know he just missed me ~_~_

**Le Sex Kitten**_: bonjour ;)_

**I_M_AWESOME**: _dude. didn't u c him like, 2 days ago spain? sup france._

**Ti amo Romano**: _yes but that's such a long time to be away from my little tomato D:_

**Ti amo Romano**: _FRANCE! :D_

**I_M_AWESOME**: _do us all a favor n just bone him already k?_

**Ti amo Romano**: _all in due time, mi amigo, all in due time ;) _

**Le Sex Kitten**: _If you don't hurry up someone might steal your little tomato away, tu sais? ;) _

**Ti amo Romano**: _you can't have romano france D:_

**Le Sex Kitten**: _I jest, I jest… I've got some interesting news, mes amis._

**I_M_AWESOME**: _england finally give it up?_

**Le Sex Kitten**: _-le sigh- One day, one day… Mais non, it seems our little English friend has un petit ami_

**Ti amo Romano**: _I'd bet all the tomatoes in my garden it's america._

**I_M_AWESOME**: _well duh. it's no secret he's been nursing a pretty bad hard on for the old brit since the 40s_

France sat back in the plush leather armchair and tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. America, hmm? It made sense. Their past, all that damn staring when they though no one was looking, not to mention the thinly veiled sexual tension when they fought… Why hadn't France thought of that? Of _course _it would be America.

He grinned. Perhaps sometime the two of them would not mind a little _ménage a trois._

_That does seem very likely _France began to type, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up and smiled. "_Oui_? How may I help you?" he asked.

His gaze was met by that of a stern elderly lady who frowned at him disapprovingly. "We don't allow food or drink in the library, young man" she said. "And I'm going to have to ask you to take the armchair back to the reading section. Where it belongs."

France sighed. Damn public libraries.

* * *

America looked from the wine bottle, obviously expensive and carefully chosen, to England, who looked as if he was praying for something large and heavy to fall on him. America blushed and looked down, embarrassed. Here he was with takeout and plastic dishes, and England had actually put a lot of thought into their evening. He scratched at the back of his head awkwardly. "Man, I fell kinda dumb right now," he said. "Do you wanna… I mean, I could change and we could go out or something if you want."

"I'm not some bird you have to wine and dine, America," England said rather harshly, trying to save face.

America grinned. "Hey, you're the one who brought the wine!"

Inwardly, England heaved a sigh of relief. Arguing. They were arguing. Not the best atmosphere for a date (was this a date?) but it was familiar territory. A constant. Something that didn't make him nervous and weak in the knees. England huffed (as was expected) and snatched the wine bottle from the younger nation's grasp. "I'm just trying to keep you at least semi-cultured," he said, placing the bottle in the cooler. "You do still have wine opener the frog left here last New Year's don't you?"

"Hey, England," America said softly.

And that _wasn't _good, because snarky banter he could handle, but that tone? What that tone implied? England couldn't turn around to face him. Instead, he stood frozen in place, one hand resting on the door of the refrigerator, the other on the handle. He was desperately trying to remember what he had come over to say. "Yes?" he asked.

America placed a hand on his shoulder and England nearly jumped. Since when had America been standing so close? Out of habit he batted the younger nation's hand away and turned around to lecture him about personal space. The words died in his mouth though, as America quickly took a step back, clearly having lost his nerve.

"What was it you were going to say, America?" he asked, feeling guilty for having brushed him off so brashly. America shook his head. "Nothin'," he said. "Ready to eat?"

England nodded, though he knew America was lying. He didn't push the subject though.

America cleared his throat, as if the simple act could also clear the atmosphere. "So, uh, blue or red?" he asked, holding the plates up again. England picked red, and America served them both.

America wanted to eat in the living room so he could watch television ("Desperate Housewives is on!") but England said that if wanted to watch the telly then he could dine alone. America had pouted, but in the end agreed to eat at the dining room table. ("Like a civilized person," England had said.)

And for the past few minutes or so, England had been trying to find the best way to bring up the fact that they would not be, um, furthering their personal relations that evening when he noticed a bit of rice that had somehow managed to stick to America's cheek. He couldn't help but stare.

At first he hadn't said anything, certain that America would notice its presence. But after a few moments he realized that America had no idea that it was even there, and so then a problem had arisen. Did he tell America that it was there or wipe it off himself?

Of course he should tell him. He didn't want the other nation to think he was babying him or invading his personal space or anything, and yet… And yet the very idea of being able to reach across the table and gently brush the grain away and then carry on with their meal as if it was something they did all the time; an everyday thing, even just seemed to good to pass up…

By then America noticed that England had taken to staring at him. "Is there something on my face?" he joked. "Or do you just like what you see?"

England nodded, to which he wasn't sure (probably both). This was silly. Obviously, it wasn't as if America would be adverse to the idea of England touching him, so he reached across the table with his napkin and lightly brushed it across his cheek, the pad of his thumb gently grazing across the soft skin.

America's face heated up nearly instantly.

"Just a bit of rice," England explained.

America made a small 'o' with his mouth, and after that England couldn't bring himself to speak again.

* * *

Romano had left to clean up the kitchen and do some laundry. Usually he wouldn't have, but if anyone asked he could always deny it. (Besides, Spain was so stupid that sometimes he forgot to take care of himself. It wasn't as if Romano _cared_ or anything, he just thought someone should do it before he got lost under a pile of dirty clothes and died of suffocation or something.) But when he got back, Spain was _still_ at his computer.

Not that that was a bad thing. Romano had paid a pretty penny for that laptop, so it was good to see that Spain used his gift. Not that Romano cared that Spain liked his presents. But it would have been a waste of money if he hadn't used it, and then Romano would have had to go through all the trouble of going back to the computer store and returning it. So it was just convenient for him that Spain used his gift.

It wasn't as if he had known that Spain was in desperate need of a new computer and had waited to get him the very best he could find for his birthday or anything. But that was completely beside the point!

It was freaking super that Spain was using the computer. But damnit, did the bastard have to use it _all_ the time? When _he_ was there?

Not that he cared if Spain paid any attention to him or anything. He couldn't care less. But he had gone out of his way to come over, and he had made him lunch, too! So would it kill the stupid bastard to peal his eyes away from the computer for one freaking minute?

"Hey, Spain," he said, standing in front of the other brunette who laid on his bed, glued to the screen in front of him. Spain made a noncommittal "hmm" in response but didn't look up.

Romano puffed his cheeks out, face getting redder by the minute. "Spain!" he shouted.

In response the Spaniard just laughed at something on the stupid laptop and began to type. After a moment he looked up at the Italian. "Did you say something, Romano?"

Romano narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "I'm leaving!" he huffed. "I hope you get carpal tunnel and your hands fall off!" He left Spain's room, slamming the door behind him.

Confused, Spain got off the bed and followed him. Romano refused to stop even when Spain called after him, so the older nation grabbed him by the arm. "What's the matter, Lovi?" he asked.

Romano refused to look at him. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just go back to your stupid computer, I don't care!"

Spain frowned. "The computer… Wha…?"

Romano jerked his arm from his grasp. "Oh, honestly!" he said. "If you can't figure out what pissed me off then whatever. I'm going home you stupid bas-"

Spain pulled him into a hug.

"I don't wanna use the computer anymore," he said, drawing the shorter nation closer and nuzzling his face into his hair. Romano shoved him off, completely embarrassed. "Do whatever you want!" he shouted. "Don't touch me!"

Spain tried to pull him into another hug with cries of, "But Lovi, you're so cuuute!" and Romano proceeded to push him away, backing up as far as he could, but in doing so forgot to look where he was going. His heel caught on the corner of a chair and he tipped backwards, completely losing his balance. He tried to break his fall by grabbing the closest thing to him (Spain) who was also caught off guard.

In the end, they both wound up falling.

Romano gave a rather undignified yelp and threw his arms out behind him, trying to break the fall. Spain knew an opportunity when he saw one, and couldn't help but grin when he landed on top of the smaller nation. "Gotcha," he whispered.

"Get off of me, fatty," is what Romano wanted to say, but all he managed to get out was an unintelligible "Guh-" before their proximity finally sunk in and Romano's brain decided it was time for a lunch break and left.

Spain leaned down and pressed a kiss to Romano's forehead. "I'm sorry I was being a lousy host," he said.

Romano's speech ability had decided to take pity on him. "Y-you're lousy at everything," he said.

Suddenly the front door was flung wide open. "Romano! Spain!"

Italy pranced in, spotted the two on the floor and grinned happily. "Ve~ I knew it!" he exclaimed.

Romano promptly pushed Spain off of him and stood, brushing at his shirt and trousers and willing his face to go back to its normal color (i.e. not five different shades of bright red).

Italy ran to his brother and gave him a big hug. "I wanted to visit with you and Spain, and I knew you'd be here!"

Romano crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever. As long as you didn't bring that potato freak with you."

"Be nice to your brother, Romano," Spain chided lightly, petting the younger Italian on the head fondly. Italy preened at the attention. Romano narrowed his eyes.

Italy sighed happily. "It's so nice, it seems like everyone's been getting lovey-dovey these days," he exclaimed.

"No one's getting lovey-dovey!" Romano practically shouted, puffing his cheeks out.

"It's funny you said that," Spain said, ignoring Romano's outburst. "France just told me that England seems to have found himself someone."

"Eh? _Who_?" Italy asked.

"I don't know, he didn't say. Why?"

"I bet it's America!" Italy said. "Oh but…"

He frowned. "Oh no…"

"What's the matter?" the Spaniard asked, hating to see his cute little Italy sad.

"America would have told me if they were," he pouted. "He might deny it but I know he'd be sad if England was seeing someone else!"

"Why?" Romano asked, rolling his eyes. "What's it matter who that old man bangs?"

Instead of answering Italy flew from the house, intent on fixing things. "Don't worry, America," he shouted for the world to hear. "Dr. Love won't fail you!"

Spain grinned and pulled his cell out and dialed a number. "Hey France, guess what…"

* * *

England wasn't sure why he had decided that letting America pick what movie they watched after dinner was a good idea, but somehow he had, and somehow they had wound up watching, of all things, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But it had either been that, some cartoon movie, or Silence of the Lambs. And England had had enough of Hannibal Lecter when the damn movie had come out. He was not about to go through another week of America saying, "Hello, Clarisse" in that creepy voice every time he saw him.

So. Little British wizards and witches it was. And America seemed so proud of his selection, even mentioned how he had remembered the Brit telling him that he had met J. K. Rowling once and since they all had funny accents like him then he _must_ like Harry Potter. England was going to retort with something snarky, but then he had looked at America, really looked at him, and saw that, in his own daft way, he was trying really hard to please him.

And then his throat had got all tight and dry. It wasn't because of America or anything, but for some reason his voice had just caught in his throat and he'd had to excuse himself and get a glass of water and just… breathe for a minute. And when he had gotten back the little Hogwarts students had already gotten onto the train.

Well that had been _years_ ago, and now Larry or Gary or whatever his name is was taking a bath with a large golden egg. He had kept trying to bring up "The Talk" honestly he had, but it had never seemed like the right moment. Not that England was stalling or anything. But the longer he waited, the more suspicious he got.

Not that he was gong to allow anything to happen, but wasn't America even going to _try_ to kiss him? After all, he was the one who gave him the damn condom and then invited him over!

England cleared his throat, trying to get the younger nation's attention, but America was completely absorbed in the images on the telly. England rolled his eyes. Oh, _please_. Everyone knew real dragons didn't look like that. He cleared his throat again. Still no reaction.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

The ending credits were rolling across the screen. America was still on the edge of his set, staring wide-eyed at the television. England sat hunched in the farthest corner of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and blank expression on his face. Somewhere between the creepy fish people and the maze he had given up on America at least _trying_ to pull a move and so had given up on even giving the speech he had originally come over to give and had resigned himself to his fate and taken to staring at the wall.

"Wasn't that a great movie?" America exclaimed. "I always love the special effects in these things. TV's sure come a long way since _Godzilla_, huh?" he asked.

England blinked himself out of his stupor and sat up. "What? Oh, yes. Quite."

America frowned. "What's the matter?" he asked. "You seem kinda… bored with a side of pissy."

"I'm not pissy," England snapped, his (sexual) frustration getting the better of him. Not that he was sexually frustrated or anything. Just a little perturbed that America obviously wasn't was all.

America gave him a skeptical look. "If you say so."

"It's nothing," England, sounding a little more aggravated than he had intended.

"Geez, Louise," the American said. "It was just a question, no need to jump down my throat."

"I wish I could!" England said, faster than the censor between his mind and his mouth could keep up and by the time he had realized what he'd said, well, it had already been said.

Well. That was… that was a little… Ahem. That hadn't been quite come out right. England tried to think of something to say, tried to brush it off, but America just laughed good-naturedly. "I knew you only came over here for sex," he joked.

England sputtered, completely taken aback. He'd be damned if he was going to let America peg the blame on him for this!

"As I recall," he retorted, "_you're_ the one who gave me a condom and told me to come over tonight." 'And then didn't even try anything,' he thought bitterly.

"Well you're the one who asked for it!"

"What?" England said incredulously. "America, I think you need to have your head examined. I never said that."

"Yes you did. Quote, 'Hey America, do you have a rubber?' end quote."

"America, I asked for an eraser, not a…"

Realization hit them both like a ton of bricks. England couldn't think of anything to say and America just continued to stare at him. "You mean you didn't… So then you never… And I… Ah fuck." America rubbed his upper-arm and finally looked a way, making it a point to look _anywhere_ but at England. "Well this is… awkward…" he said stiffly.

Silence.

And that was how that sat for a minute, England on one end of the couch, America on the other, both suddenly finding the fabric on the arm of the couch utterly fascinating.

'This is stupid,' America thought, but before he could say anything, England beat him to it.

"Oh, come here you idiot," England finally said, grabbing America by the wrist and pulling him into a kiss.

Three minutes later and England had somehow lost his tie, America had somehow wound up underneath him, and he had long since forgotten the things he had originally intended to say to the younger nation because oh _god _who could think about things like that when America was obviously too busy doing more important things. Like trying to take his pants off.

"Americaaaaa are you home? I came to- _oh." _Italy ran into America's living room, dragging a reluctant Germany with him. He smiled happily when he saw the two and Germany, completely embarrassed, quickly placed his hands over the small brunette's eyes.

England didn't even know he was capable of moving that fast, but the minute he heard Italy's voice he shot up as if something had scalded him. America had the decency to have some semblance of propriety and made an effort to fix his collar, but he seemed too happy to really care that the two of them had just been caught trying to suck each other's faces off.

England cleared his throat. "What, ahem, what is it that brings you over here, Itlay?" he asked with as much dignity as someone re-buckling their belt buckle can ask.

Italy, eyes still covered, gave a smile. "Oh no reason, just came to see how things are going for America's _friend_" he said cheekily, finally realizing what had been going on. "What brings _you_ here, England?"

England tried his best to stay as unflustered as possible and chose to ignore that last comment. He refused to let someone as oafish as Italy bate him along. But it was difficult to remain calm when Germany was staring at them both so intently. "Which," he cleared his throat again, "which friend?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation as far away from the current situation as possible.

"Ve~ Can I look now, Germany?" Italy asked. Germany looked them over once more to make sure they were decent and lowered his hand.

"A friend he's been getting advice for!" Italy explained, grabbing Germany's hand and holding it as tightly as possible. "I don't know who, but apparently he likes someone and-"

America, who had magically snapped out of his make-out induced daze shot up from the couch and clamped a firm hand over Italy's mouth and began to laugh. "Ha ha, who cares about all that!" he said nervously.

England was about to protest that he actually _did_ want to know thank you very much, when Germany spoke.

"What's there to hide?" Germany asked. "You asked Italy a lot of advice about relationships for your 'friend'," he said, smiling evilly. That would teach America for walking in on him and Italy. And also for subjecting the little Italian (but mostly himself) to their… whatever they were doing.

America stared at him, completely humiliated that Germany had outed him in front of England.

"Why didn't you just tell me it was about you and England?" Italy asked, adding insult to injury.

England raised a brow, about to ask about this "advise" when France came sailing through the window, landing rather painfully at the foot of the coffee table, a boot imprint clearly visible on his rear end.

Romano's head popped up in the bushes, face red. "That'll teach you, you damn pervert!" he bellowed.

Prussia shushed him. "You'll blow our cover," he whispered.

Spain pointed through the window at England, America, Italy, and Germany who were all staring at them. "I think it's already been blown," he said matter-of-factly.

"Then could we please get out of the bushes and could you _please _remove your elbow from my side?" an unknown voice came from somewhere beneath the others. Prussia smiled. "That's not my elbow," he said. Whoever it was in the bushes gave an indignant cry of protest. Prussia leered triumphantly and disappeared into the shrubbery.

"Don't you touch him!" Came a feminine voice, followed by a resounding metallic _thwak_ against a hollow object.

England paled. Was this what hell was like? England was pretty sure that he had just suffered a stroke and died and this was his punishment. "Just how many people are in that bush?" he asked, not quite sure how his voice had gotten that high. "You have three seconds to reply before I go all Henry VIII on your sorry arse."

France picked himself up and took a seat on the couch next to England who promptly stood up. "A few of us decided to drop by for a visit. No need for threats, _mon cher_," he said. "We weren't expecting to see _you_ here though, _Angleterre_." The tone of his voice said otherwise.

"But what the hell were you doing in the bushes?" England demanded.

"_Un petit oiseau _told me that you had a date tonight, and we had a feeling that it might be with our darling _Amérique_."

"So you decided to come spy on us?" England seethed, two seconds away from decking the Frenchman.

"Well I wouldn't call it-"

"Everybody out of the bushes!" England shouted.

There was a collection off frightened gasps and 'oh man's but one by one, the nations who had been hiding outside America's window filed out of the shrubs and into the living room. Spain and Prussia looked smugly at England, as if they couldn't wait to pick on him(Though Prussia seemed to have a rather large bruise forming on the side of his head), Romano and Austria looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, and Hungary… Hungary was holding a shiny new frying-pan and had apparently been filming the entire time.

To say that England was pissed would be an understatement. Brows furrowed with unbridled rage, he turned to France and started throttling him, cursing and shouting. France's face went from red to blue to a deep purple, with no signs of England stopping in the near future. America grabbed England and pulled him off the gasping nation and drug him into the kitchen. "Since everyone is here I'll get us all drinks!" America called. "Just, uh, make yourselves comfortable and we'll be right back!"

America closed the door behind him and leaned against it, heart pounding like mad. "This is crazy," he muttered.

"I'll say," England said, still fuming. "The nerve of those idiots."

In the privacy of the kitchen America suddenly remembered what he and England had been doing before they had been interrupted and turning to the refrigerator, a stupid grin on his face. "Well, no use staying mad. I'll um," America cleared his throat. "I'll get some beer for everyone."

"What you ought to do is kick those bastards out," England spat.

"They're our friends," America said, "That wouldn't be nice."

"Oh, but it's alright to spy on people?" England pointed out. "Or would you just prefer to spend your evening with them?" England hadn't said, "Instead of me," but what he had meant rang loud and clear.

America set the beers down on the counter and walked over to England. "You know I'd rather just spend the evening with you, old man."

England should have been offended, but with the way America was looking at him, he couldn't be bothered. He pulled the taller nation down till they were nearly face to face. "So, you asked Italy for advise, about me?" he whispered. Amreica's cheeks colored slightly. "Oh shut up," he said. England laughed and pulled him closer. America, expecting a kiss, closed his eyes, but just as their lips were about to meet, Italy decided to come into the kitchen.

"Ve~ America, I'm hungry too!" Italy announced.

England growled in frustration and balled his fist up, slamming it into the counter behind him. "Damn it all, Italy! Can't you see we're a little _busy_?" he nearly shouted. Italy 'eeped' and fled, crying to Germany. England turned back to America and smiled.

"Now," he said, "where were we?"

**End.  
**for real this time haha


End file.
